


Love You True

by Nakeycatstakebaths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bellamy is a solider, Deployment, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Pregnancy, Soldier AU, Surprise pregnancy, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakeycatstakebaths/pseuds/Nakeycatstakebaths
Summary: Oceans apart or across the street, one thing never changed...Clarke loved Bellamy. She always had, from a careful distance, without him knowing how she really felt. They were best friends and nothing more. Until the night before he deployed to Afghanistan and everything changed...well, not everything, he still didn't know how much she loved him and maybe he never would.But now, things weren't just about them. Not anymore. Now she had their baby to worry about, their little bee, a baby that Bellamy didn't know existed.And the weight of all the things he didn't know were starting to weigh on Clarke.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 46
Kudos: 245





	Love You True

**Author's Note:**

> This is neither medically nor military accurate, I apologize for any inconsistencies. 
> 
> But this is based on a fun little ask I received on Tumblr a few months ago and I found it in my drafts. I hope y'all like it :)

“It won’t zip, babe,” Harper sighed, yanking at the zipper one last time. 

Clarke held onto the bodice, clutching it to her chest as she stared at her reflection. 

“Shit,” she groaned, flopping onto the floor with her skirt pooling around her. 

Harper rubbed Clarke’s shoulder comfortingly, giving her a closed mouth smile as she sat down beside her. Her own perfectly fitted bridesmaid dress melded with Clarke’s, a stark contrast from the half-raised zipper digging into Clarke’s spine. 

“It’s okay...it happens, there’s plenty of time. We’ll talk to Octavia and have them resize it.” 

Clarke stared at her reflection, her heart dropping as a thought nudged into her head. A vague nudging feeling that had been sitting in her mind for a few weeks now. 

“I uh—,” she started to say, cheeks heating with embarrassment, but Harper was already lifting herself back up, disappearing behind the flowing curtain that led to the bridal shop. 

Alone in the dressing room, Clarke could feel a knot unfurling in her stomach. 

She needed to get a handle on this, center herself before Harper...or worse, Octavia came flying back through the curtain. 

Breathe, breathe, breathe. 

This would be okay. Everything would be okay. It was probably nothing. She’d been eating a lot of brownies and putting extra creamer in her coffee. 

No big deal, it was just a tight dress. 

Clarke wasn’t sure if she believed it, but she needed to keep her head straight if she was going to get through this fitting. 

There was no other option. 

***

  
Finally, in the safety of her own bathroom, Clarke lifted up her T-shirt, running a hand across the slight swell of her stomach. 

It probably wasn’t the brownies...or the coffee creamer. 

How had she not noticed sooner? 

Really, it should’ve been obvious. 

There was only one answer. She knew it, even if it hurt to admit it. 

Letting her shirt fall back down, Clarke clicked off the bathroom light, the image of herself in the mirror seared into the back of her eyelids. 

Carefully, she eased open her dresser drawer, digging through a few layers of old paper and dead batteries before she found what she was looking for. 

A Polaroid. From Bellamy’s old, bulky camera, grainy and faded around the edges even though it was only a few months old. 

Three months old, to be exact. 

Their bare shoulders peeked out from the bottom of the camera, Bellamy’s sleep mussed curls falling across his forehead and Clarke's face tilted in a dopey smile. 

They’d been so happy, even if they both knew it wasn’t going to last. 

Their last night together...their only night together, before Bellamy got deployed. 

Apparently, once was enough, though. 

She’d wanted to tell him the truth, that she’d loved him her entire life, that she wanted to be with him more than anything in the world. 

But at that moment, it felt like too much. 

The last thing Bellamy needed before shipping off to war was the added weight of Clarke’s feelings. 

So she’d held it all in, and now she desperately wished she hadn’t. 

How was she going to tell him? 

He deserved to know. If anyone was fit to be a dad, it was Bellamy. 

But he was so far away...and things between them had left off so strangely. 

Clarke didn’t know where they stood, and that made everything infinitely more complicated. 

She should probably start by taking a test, no point in freaking out without knowing for sure. 

But she couldn’t handle doing it by herself. 

***

  
Emori arrived two hours later with half a dozen bananas and a CVS bag in tow. 

“Here and here,” she said matter of factly, setting both unceremoniously on the counter before moving to steal a Diet Coke from Clarke’s fridge. 

No questions asked, just a single expectant eyebrow raise following the pop of the can. 

This was why, out of everybody, Clarke had asked Emori for help. 

“What’s with the bananas?” She asked, not wanting to face the test just yet. 

“If you’re actually pregnant, you should probably start eating more fruit,” Emori shrugged nonchalantly. “If you’re not, then they make a nice snack.” 

Just to have something to do, Clarke broke off a banana. 

She took the time to peel it slowly, picking off each of the strings, trying to stay focused even though she could feel Emori’s eyes on her. 

“You’re stalling…” Emori sighed, reaching into the bag and setting the little pink box on the counter. 

Clarke set the uneaten banana down beside it. She knew this was just delaying the inevitable, and knew almost without a doubt what the test would tell her. 

It just didn’t feel right doing it like this. 

Alone. 

Well, not alone...but without Bellamy. 

He didn’t even know. 

How was she going to tell him? 

He already had so much on his plate, and this would just make everything infinitely more complicated. 

She should’ve just told him how she felt. At least then, it would be one less thing for her to explain. 

“Aren’t you going to ask whose it is?” Clarke asked, still unable to look directly at the test. 

Emori paused, taking a long drink from her can before giving Clarke a gentle smile, one that honestly said everything before she spoke. 

“I don’t think I need to,” she said carefully, gaze flicking toward a picture of their friend group hung up on the fridge. 

Bellamy’s arm was thrown across Clarke’s shoulders, pulling her against his side as they all squeezed into the frame. His cheek was pillowed on top of her head, and Clarke’s arms were wound tightly around his waist. 

It made Clarke's chest ache to look at it, to see him frozen in a moment like that. If she tried, she could feel the heat of his embrace, smell the soft woodsy scent of his cologne. 

Even before everything, she’d always felt safe when he held her like that. 

“He’s going to be so happy about this, Clarke,” Emori continued, standing up to round the counter and place a gentle hand on Clarke's back. 

And the gesture is what finally set Clarke off, like the final push she needed to feel all the emotions swirling around in her chest. 

She started sobbing, crumpled onto the cold kitchen tile, suddenly overwhelmed by the turn her life had taken. 

They weren’t just sad tears, but frustrated, angry, hopeful, happy ones, all mixed together. 

Emori sank down beside her, wrapping her in a tight hug, running a gentle hand down her back. 

She didn’t say anything, just held her, rocking gently back and forth to help Clarke calm down. 

“He doesn’t know…” was all she could manage to get out, shoulders still shaking from her tears. 

“Of course, he doesn’t know. You don’t even know for sure,” Emori murmured, smoothing down a few stray hairs on the back of her head. 

With a deep breath, Clarke finally managed to steady herself enough to speak clearly. 

“No, he doesn’t know that I love him.” 

***

  
Clarke couldn’t believe that she was doing this, that she’d somehow become the kind of person who did this. But she needed an outlet and needed a way to preserve all these memories. 

So she went to Barnes and Noble and bought a blank album with a red quilted cover and adhesive pages, a pack of felt markers, and a few sheets of colorful stickers. 

She’d officially become a scrapbooking person. 

The Polaroid picture went in first, followed by a picture of Clarke holding the pregnancy test in one hand and a banana in the other. 

And now, Clarke had a fuzzy sonogram, the picture that made it all feel real. 

She gave the photo it’s own page, writing the date below it in careful cursive. 

Clarke hated that Bellamy was in the dark about all this, that he had no idea they’d made this tiny, beautiful thing together. 

But it felt too big to tell him in the two allotted Skype hours he got a month, with Octavia leaning over her shoulder. 

Especially considering that Octavia didn’t know yet either. 

Right now, this was a secret, one that only Clarke, Emori, and the scrapbook knew. 

There didn’t seem like there was an easy way to tell someone that you’re in love with them and four months pregnant with their baby. 

Short of putting the pregnancy test in a box and mailing it to Afghanistan with a post-it note that said “surprise!” Clarke was entirely out of ideas. 

Closing the scrapbook, Clarke settled on her couch with her computer in her lap, a blank email addressed to Bellamy sitting in front of her. 

They’d exchanged a few back and forth, nothing major, mainly ongoings about their days, funny stories, recounting of their meals. 

And to be honest, Clarke missed talking to him—really talking, even if she couldn’t tell him the whole truth, she could tell him some of it. 

_“I saw a bumblebee today, and it made me think of you._  
_The little guy wouldn’t leave me alone, landed directly on my ice cream, and sat there, claiming it for himself. I let him have it because...how often do bees get to eat ice cream? I got another bowl for myself, and I had dessert with a bee._

_Bees always remind me of you. There’s something steady about them, friendly and warm but protective. I liked having him there. For a minute, it was like I had my best friend back. I named him Bella-bee, and I’m thinking about leaving ice cream out for him again tomorrow._

_This sounds crazy, but I miss you something fierce. Stay safe, steady, and strong out there.”_

Clarke stared at the email, she wasn’t sure where it came from, and it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But it felt representative of where she was at mentally. It also was the pure, unfiltered truth. 

Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed send. 

And then, in the hustle and bustle of teaching and planning Octavia’s wedding and trying to eat healthier for the sake of her unborn child, she forgot about it. 

Until five days later, when a little red notification appeared at the top of her inbox, a reply from Bellamy. 

_“I rarely get to smile these days...but this made me smile. I’d like to think I manifested that little bee just for you, to try to keep you company. I hope he enjoyed his ice cream as much as I would’ve._

_And I hope you think of me every time you see a bee._

_I miss you. It’s different out here than it was the last time. I’m older now, and it feels like there’s so much more to lose.”_

Part of it was probably the hormones, but Clarke teared up as she read his words. If she tried, she could hear them in his voice. 

He missed her too. 

Absently, Clarke’s hand drifted to her stomach, and she rubbed her palm gently across her skin, rereading the email out loud for the baby to hear. 

“That’s your daddy, little bee,” she whispered, reaching for the scrapbook so she could write, “our little bee” under the sonogram photo. 

His words echoed in her head. _There’s so much more to lose._

She had to tell him. 

He deserved to know, even if he couldn’t be here with her, he could still be a part of this somehow. 

Clarke’s feelings didn’t matter right now. This was about Bellamy. 

Their relationship, whatever they were to each other, was secondary to their responsibility to this tiny human, their tiny human, their little bee. 

***

  
Tugging on the end of her sweater, Clarke weaved through the trendy, dark dining room of Lincoln’s restaurant. 

She could just barely see the top of Octavia’s colorful headband hidden behind the edge of their favorite corner booth. 

The copy of the sonogram felt like a lead weight in her pocket as she slid onto the bench, squeezing her friend’s hand while they greeted each other. 

But Octavia’s smile faltered when they settled back into their seats, brow furrowing as she looked Clarke up and down. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, chewing on her straw. “Don’t worry about the dress...it’s not a big deal, we have plenty of time. You look amazing. It doesn’t matter—“ 

Of course, Octavia thought this was about the dress. She probably figured Clarke was embarrassed about gaining a few pounds. 

The reassurance was sweet, even if it was misplaced. 

With a deep breath, Clarke reached back across the table, placing a hand on Octavia’s arm. 

This all felt a little dramatic. She didn’t want it to seem like she was dying. 

It would be better to just be upfront about it.

There were pieces of Bellamy in Octavia’s face, in the crinkle around her smile and the deep brown of her eyes. It was part of what made this so hard, but also why it was so important. 

Wordlessly with one hand still holding onto her friend’s arm. Clarke reached into her coat pocket and slid the little rectangle of shiny paper across the table. 

A beat of silence followed as Octavia processed what she was seeing. 

And then she gasped, grabbing at the picture to get a closer look. 

The look on her face was pure awe as she looked between Clarke and the photo. 

“Oh my God,” she whispered, voice choking a little on the words. 

Octavia stared at the sonogram a beat longer, running her thumb over it before she finally looked up. 

“I’m going to be an aunt, huh?” 

Clarke nodded, and a tear rolled down Octavia’s cheek. 

Part of her wanted to ask how Octavia knew, but it didn’t feel like the right time. 

***

  
“Sorry I’m late,” Emori said, shrugged off her coat as she entered the exam room. 

Clarke had already laid back on the table with Octavia standing beside her. Emori squeezed into the small space, grabbing Clarke’s other hand. 

The nurse smiled at all three of them before squeezing a thick gel onto Clarke’s bare stomach. 

A few seconds later, a black and white image appeared on the screen, followed by a loud whooshing. 

A clear, steady pulse. 

Clarke’s hand flew to her mouth, catching a sob as she listened to her baby’s heartbeat. 

Vaguely, she could feel her friends’ hands gripping her arm, but all she could focus on was the little moving dot on the screen. 

It made the whole thing feel painfully real, and she found herself desperately wishing Bellamy could hear this. 

“Everything looks great on my end,” the nurse smiled, offering Clarke a tissue to wipe her cheeks. “Do you...want to know the gender?” 

The ache in her chest intensified, and Clarke looked to Octavia. 

Octavia wiped a tear of her own, smiling as she pushed a strand of Clarke’s hair off her forehead. 

Once again, the resemblance to Bellamy, the gesture's familiarity was like a punch to her heart. 

She couldn't do this without Bellamy. 

As much as they all were curious, it just didn’t feel right. 

Looking at the tiny smudge on the screen, knowing Bellamy didn’t know it even existed. Finding out the gender felt like crossing a line, like she was leaving him out of his own life. 

“If you’re not sure, I can put it in an envelope, and you can open it when you feel ready,” the nurse offered, pulling away from the probe and cleaning the gel off Clarke’s skin. 

Both Clarke and Octavia nodded, waiting for the nurse to disappear behind the heavy wooden door. 

“There’s a person in there,” Emori whispered, smoothing down Clarke’s wrinkled shirt. 

“I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a boy,” Octavia said, the ghost of a smile still playing on her lips, but it fell as her eyes drifted back to the now blank screen. “Bellamy is going to be so good with a little boy…” 

The ache deepened, like a scab, each layer peeling off until there was nothing but a painful exposed patch of skin. 

Logically, Clarke knew that Bellamy would be thrilled, that it was more likely than not that he wanted to be with her as badly as she wanted to be with him. 

And yet, she couldn’t shake the paralyzing fear that he wouldn’t want this, that he wouldn’t want her. 

After years of loving him from afar, hoping that somehow they would end up together, to that one perfect night, to this, it felt too fast. 

But regardless of her feelings…

It was time to face the music. 

***

  
The scheduled call with Bellamy was in two weeks, which gave Clarke just enough time to prepare. 

Together with Emori, she packed up a copy of the sonogram, the still-sealed gender reveal envelope, a T-shirt that said “world’s best dad,” and six bags of Bellamy’s favorite candy, Werther's Original Toffees. 

“He seriously likes these?” Emori giggled, wrinkling her nose as she tucked one of the backs in the corner of the box. 

Clarke snorted, but she didn’t look up for her paper. She’d written Bellamy a letter, not an email, a real letter. Hopefully, it would arrive at some point after their call, after he already knew about the baby. But if it didn’t, she owed him an explanation. 

“Bellamy, 

Hopefully, by now, you already know what’s in this box. If not, this isn’t exactly how I envisioned telling you, but if I don’t send this now, I never will. 

I’m pregnant. 

We’re having a baby. 

In five months, to be exact. 

I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, I’m leaving that part up to you. I’ve gotten so many firsts with you gone, I figured I owed you at least one. 

Either way, they’re so beautiful, Bellamy. Our little bee. They’ve got a strong heart, you should hear it beat, so perfect and so steady. 

I know this isn’t what we planned...but I’m so proud of what we’ve made together. 

And no matter what happens, I don’t regret anything. 

I’m glad you’re the person I get to do this with. 

I miss you like crazy. I wish we could experience this together. I wish you were here. 

Please stay safe out there.” 

Clarke read her words over and over, trying to figure out a way to draw it to a close. 

She wanted to tell him that she loved him. 

But it was too much for one letter. 

“Yours always, Clarke.” 

After one last once over, she folded the letter, placing it at the top of the box before folding the boxing and allowing Emori to seal it with thick tape. 

That was it. 

“I’m proud of you,” Emori said, wrapping Clarke in a tight hug, careful not to squish her stomach too tightly between them. 

She was really starting to show now, the button of her jeans straining against the new swell of her belly. 

Yesterday marked four months, almost halfway through. 

With a hand cradling her stomach, Clarke followed Emori into the kitchen, trying to take her mind off the box sitting in the living room. 

“Stop thinking about the box,” Emori sighed, digging through the fridge and emerging with an armful of frozen food from Trader Joe’s. “We’re having a feast.” 

Clarke couldn’t help but smile as she helped Emori pour cauliflower gnocchi into the air fryer. 

Even now, she knew that she wasn’t really alone and that in itself was a comfort. 

***

  
“Blake, you’ve got a package,” Miller called from somewhere inside a tent, a few seconds before a box came flying at Bellamy’s head. 

He caught it just before he hit the ground, more shocked than anything. 

Octavia wasn’t really the care package type, but maybe she’d been feeling generous. 

They were supposed to Skype tomorrow, their first call in almost two months, after their usual one got locked out by a sandstorm. 

Knowing his sister, she’d probably bought him a stupid hat that she would guilt him into wearing during the call. 

Or maybe it was one of those ridiculous groomsmen packages, the kind with monogrammed whiskey glasses and a fancy handwritten card asking him to be in the wedding. 

There were endless possibilities. 

But the last thing Bellamy expected was to see “Clarke Griffin,” written on the return address. 

His chest clenched painfully, memories from the night before he left flooding in all at once. The feel of her in his arms, how perfect it all felt, the quiet tears he shed in the dark, knowing he would be leaving her behind and that she may never knew how he felt. 

He couldn’t burden her with that kind of weight, not when there was a chance he wouldn’t make it back. 

Clarke deserved to be happy, to have a real life, and right now, he couldn’t give her that...he might never be able to provide her with that. 

So he’d kept his mouth shut, savored the moment, hoping that it would stay nestled in his memories forever. 

The thought of what was in the box, what she might have thought to send him, it made his heart race. 

But he knew he couldn’t open it now, not with everyone else around. 

Gently, he pushed it under his bed. 

Whatever it was, it could wait. 

***

  
_5 Months Ago_

Bellamy tapped his hands against the steering wheel, his fingers grazing Clarke’s on the center console. 

He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to drop her off. 

This was the last time he would get to see her, and he wanted to make the most of it. 

“Do you...do you want to watch a movie?” He found himself saying, suddenly nervous at the prospect of being rejected. 

He and Clarke hung out all the time. Bellamy wasn’t sure why this suddenly felt different—but it did. 

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Clarke said, flashing him a smile that looked almost nervous. 

Maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 

Bellamy followed her into her house, toeing off his shoes and flopping down on the couch. 

He’d done this a million times, settled under this blanket, sharing a bottle of wine with Clarke. 

She joined him with an uncorked bottle, not even bothering with glasses as she snuggled in beside him. 

They watched something terrible, passing the bottle back and forth, inching closer and closer together until Clarke was lying on top of him. 

Neither of them was drunk, but there was a comfortable buzz under Bellamy’s skin, a syrupy warmth that dripped from the back of his neck. 

Feeling bold, he nudged a knee between her thighs, allowing his hand to trail down her back. 

It was firmly past the line they’d never dared to cross, a gesture Bellamy spent years dreaming about. 

And to his surprise, Clarke ground down against his thigh, shifting so that their eyes locked, the heat of their shared gaze pulsing through Bellamy’s body. 

Her legs wrapped around his waist, long blonde hair brushing his chest as she held his stare. 

“Please tell me you want this,” he murmured, reaching up to cup her jaw, to rub his thumb against her cheek. 

They were barely a hair apart, noses just barely brushing, when Clarke whispered, “please, Bellamy.” 

Before he could even fully process the movement, they were kissing. 

And it was everything he’d always imagined. 

It felt like something deep in the universe clicked into place, like for the first time, Bellamy felt fully content. 

The intensity of their kiss confirmed something Bellamy had known for a long time, that he loved Clarke, so much that it made his soul ache. 

And if this was his only chance to show her, he might as well make the best of it. 

But despite his best attempt at making the moment last, the morning still came, the sun pushing through the horizon, bringing in a new day. 

The day of his deployment. 

Bellamy had so many chances to tell her, so many moments of silence where he could’ve fit in a confession, but it wouldn’t have been fair. 

So he’d held it in, taken blurry photos with his old Polaroid camera, and tried to fit in as many kisses as humanly possible. 

Leaving Clarke standing on her doorstep, wrapped in his heavy denim jacket, eyes rimmed with red, was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. 

But it wasn’t until his truck safely rounded the corner that he let himself cry, to mourn for a future that was so close and yet so far away. 

***

  
The box stayed tucked under Bellamy’s bed, all day and all night. 

He was so curious, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to look inside. 

There was something so profoundly painful about it, what it represented. A gift from the girl he loved, who he would do absolutely anything for, from a girl who has no idea how he felt. 

In truth, the contents were probably nothing more than some candy and clean socks, maybe a funny card she picked out for him from Target. 

But the idea of going back to being just friends after the night they’d had, of forgetting what they’d shared—it felt like getting shot. And Bellamy had been shot on more than one occasion. 

So he left it, hanging on to the hope that Clarke would be waiting for him when he got home, that she wanted to be with him as badly as he wanted to be with her. But that hope was seeming more and more misplaced. 

With the unopened box still hidden underneath the bed, Bellamy washed his face, brushed his hair, put on a decent shirt for the first time in a month, and logged into his Skype call. 

He only had the laptop for an hour, might as well make a big deal out of it. 

But when he tried to connect to the call, he was met with a blank screen. 

No connection. 

Typical. 

Getting decent internet in the desert wasn’t exactly easy. 

“Miller, can you reset the router?” Bellamy called, leaning back in his chair as he rebooted the computer. 

The old laptop whirred back to life, the indicator bar crawling slowly as it started back up. 

Running a hand through his hair, Bellamy stood, pacing a lap around the room.

His eyes once again landed on the box. 

If he was looking for a sign, this was it. 

Carefully, he extracted the box from under the mattress, ripping through the thick packing tape with a pocket knife. 

Inside lay a folded piece of paper, laid gently on top of a thick layer of tissue paper. 

His name was written across the paper in Clarke’s looped scrawl, sealed with a Chiquita banana sticker. 

Despite himself, he saved the sticker, pressing it into his T-shirt so it wouldn’t get lost. 

With a deep breath, he started to read the letter, but his breath caught on the words, “I’m pregnant.” 

Tears filled his eyes as he scanned Clarke’s words, spilling down his cheeks as he took in what she said about their baby, about how happy she was. 

Bellamy didn’t know what to do with himself, couldn’t process anything, couldn’t move. 

He was going to be a dad. 

He and Clarke had made a baby together. 

Part of him wanted to be mad that she’d waited four months to tell him, but any anger he had was eclipsed by the flicker of hope at the thought of what this meant for him and Clarke. 

They could be a family, the three of them. 

Bellamy was just about to open the rest of the package when Miller burst through the tent flaps. 

“Server is down, sorry man—“ he began, eyes glued to his phone, until he looked up to see Bellamy kneeling on the floor, trying not to completely lose his shit. “Uhh, what happened?” 

Bellamy didn’t answer. Instead, he tore through the tissue paper, only to find a slightly bent sonogram right at the top. 

From behind him, Miller gasped, kneeling down onto the rough, dirty floor. 

“Whose is that?” He asked, bracing a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. 

But all Bellamy could see was the tiny white smudge and Clarke’s name written across the side of the page. 

“Clarke’s,” Bellamy whispered, letting his thumb trace the smooth paper. 

Without pressing further, Miller let out a long, low whistle. 

“Congrats, man.” 

***

  
Octavia ran a hand through her long dark hair, tossing the phone on a nearby armchair. 

“The guy from the base said that there was a technical issue. They’re going to try to reschedule the call for later this week,” she sighed, gratefully taking the offered beer from Lincoln. 

Clarke ran a hand over her stomach, trying not to let her disappointment show. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but the stress of all this was starting to wear on her. 

As much as she wanted to put this off forever, she’d rather just tell him the truth. 

And now it seemed more likely than not that the package would arrive before she had the chance to tell him face to face. 

It was all she could think about over dinner, barely registering the roast chicken the Lincoln spent the entire afternoon basting. 

Maybe another letter was appropriate. 

They’d turned into a journal of sorts, a way for Clarke to get all her thoughts out. Most of them barely made any sense and wouldn’t be worth the cost of postage to send them across the ocean—but it filled the void. 

She’d taken to writing them while playing old videos on her phone, stupid ones from years ago just so the baby knew the sound of Bellamy’s voice. 

It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all she had. 

***

  
The internet had been out for a week now. Nobody at the base could figure out why. 

They’d gone dark, alone in the middle of a desert with nothing but a radio. 

It made Bellamy long for a fuzzy, unclear Skype call, to see his sister and her fiancé try to make things feel a little routine. 

And left him wondering whether Clarke had been on the other end of the dropped call, waiting to tell him about their baby. 

He kept the sonogram under his pillow, and on nights where he missed home, he took it out, traced the vaguely defined blob with his finger. 

Half him, half Clarke, and completely perfect. 

The gender reveal envelope sat untouched beneath his mattress. Bellamy wasn’t sure why he couldn’t bring himself to open it, but every time he tried, it hurt too much. 

This wasn’t supposed to be like this, with him and Clarke on opposite ends of the world, unable to share this with each other. 

It burned his soul that she didn’t know how much he loved her, how much he loved them both, that the only way he could tell her is over a Skype call. 

And right now, they didn’t even have that. 

Bellamy held the photo to his chest, listening to the quiet whistling of the desert wind. 

He was just on the verge of sleep when he heard a shout, a few seconds of warning before Miller came hurling through the door and knocked him clear off the bed, onto the ground. 

Bellamy barely had a chance to catch his breath when the bomb sounded. 

And then everything went black. 

***

  
Clarke turned sideways in the mirror, running a hand over her bump. 

It was apparent she was pregnant now, her jeans holding themselves together with a threadbare hair tie instead of by the button. 

Quietly, she hummed an old Joni Mitchell song, moving to curl in her window seat. 

Instead of writing, she’d pulled out her old sketchbook. It's been ages since she’d felt open enough to draw again. But on a rainy Sunday, with her baby fluttering against her skin and the ever-present ache of Bellamy’s absence pulsing through her veins, inspiration struck. 

She let the stub of charcoal whisp over the page, allowing the shape to form on its own accord. With the soft patter of rain against the window, her own body began to come through on the page. In its new form, one that Clarke wasn’t entirely comfortable with yet. 

The soft curve of her stomach, framed by two hands. Not her own, but rougher, larger, steady—Bellamy’s. 

Seeing it laid out on the page made her mourn for something that felt entirely out of reach, but it was also a comfort, one she hadn’t understood she needed. 

“Your daddy is a hero little bee,” she whispered, letting her hand slip under her sweater. “But sometimes I wish he was just our hero instead of everyone else’s.” 

Selfish as it was, it was the truth. 

Even if Bellamy wasn’t even hers to have. 

Clarke fell asleep with her hand pressed into her skin, her cheek leaning on the cold glass of the window. 

After nights of heartburn and backaches and little kicks that woke her up in the middle of the night, exhaustion got the best of her. 

Until a faint buzzing woke her up a few hours later, distant enough that she didn’t recognize what it was at first. 

Buzz buzz buzz 

Buzz buzz buzz 

The sound incorporated itself into her dream, taking the form of a little black square that Clarke stole from Olive Garden when she was six. 

It vibrated against the table over and over, flashing a bright red. 

The black piece of plastic was just out of reach, surrounded by a caricature of a mediocre Italian restaurant. 

But Clarke held onto the last edge of sleep until a banging on the door shocked her awake, knocking her off the window seat and onto the floor. 

Crumpled and wrinkled, hair sticking up in a thousand different directions, she realized that the buzzing was actually coming from her phone. 

The banging sounded again, followed by Emori’s muffled voice, just barely audible through the door.

Still, in a haze, Clarke picked up her phone, trying to refasten her Jeans before giving up entirely, and slowly moved toward the door. 

It wasn’t until she’d almost reached the entryway that it occurred to her that it was the middle of the night and that whatever was happening wasn’t normal. 

She looked at her phone again, and her heart sank when she saw 11 missed calls from Octavia, 4 from Emori, 3 from Lincoln, and 2 from Murphy. 

All of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe. 

And when she opened the door and saw Murphy’s red-rimmed eyes, it was all the confirmation she needed. 

A sob ripped through Clarke’s chest, so painfully raw that she didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.   
  
“No…” she whispered, the words just barely slipping out. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping this was a dream, that she’d invented this whole thing up, and if she willed herself enough, it would be over. 

“He’s alive,” Murphy assured, voice rough. It was clear he’d been crying. “But it’s pretty bad.” 

It felt like she was drowning, like she couldn’t get a proper lungful of air. 

She lowered herself onto the floor, needing something to ground herself before she fell over. 

“Clarke, honey, you need to breathe. I know this is scary and awful and—but,” Emori began, her own voice shaking as she desperately tried to steady Clarke. 

They hadn’t even gotten to see each other. 

There was a chance he still didn’t know and that she would lose him forever. 

In all her late-night panics, she’d never managed to bring herself to wonder what would happen if Bellamy didn’t make it back. 

All her fears about telling him, about him rejecting her, melted away. 

None of that mattered if he never came home. 

Clarke thought she might throw up, just on the edge of a panic attack, when she felt Murphy squeezing her shoulder and Emori’s gentle hand on her back. 

“Breathe, Clarke. He’s alive. It’s not much, but it’s something,” Murphy whispered, voice taking on something unrecognizably gentle as he crouched to her eye level. 

But breathing felt like the most difficult task in the world. 

She was being suffocated by the prospect of being a single mom, of losing her best friend—of the love of her life dying alone in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany. 

But then, she felt a little flutter at the bottom of her stomach, the same nudge that had been keeping her awake for the past week. 

Except this time, it felt like an immeasurable comfort. It was like the baby could sense her panic, and was trying to remind her that she wasn’t alone, that it was there with her too. 

Clarke knew what Emori was trying to say, that freaking out would only hurt the baby. She needed to be strong, to be a mom to her and Bellamy’s child. 

“He’s alive,” she whispered, wrapping an arm around Emori and another around Murphy, tears still running down her cheeks, but decidedly more steady than she was a few seconds ago. She knew this wasn’t just about her, that they were scared, that Bellamy was Murphy’s best friend too. 

As much as there were times where she’d felt impossibly alone lately, Clarke never truly was—and until this moment, she hadn’t appreciated that enough. 

They sat like that, on the floor, with Murphy wrapped Emori and Emori wrapped around Clarke. Things felt precarious, like if any of them breathed the wrong way, everything would fall apart. 

And when the sun started filtering through the living room blinds, Murphy’s phone rang, breaking them all out of their haze. 

He clicked the phone to the speaker, and Octavia’s shaking voice filled the room. 

“He’s in a coma right now, broken arm, leg, two ribs, and a lot of shrapnel in his chest,” she said, taking a deep breath before she continued. “But they’re optimistic.” 

They all let out a collective sigh of relief, but of course, they weren’t out of the woods. 

“No news on the rest of the unit. They said they’ll let me know whether he’s being transported by tomorrow,” Octavia continued, before handing the phone off the Lincoln. 

“Come over, I made a ton of food. I don’t think any of us are getting any more sleep tonight,” Lincoln said, hanging up a few seconds later. 

It was a welcome distraction. 

***

  
After two days with no updates, everyone shifted from nervous and scared, to always on edge. 

They all needed some space from each other. 

In fact, Clarke didn’t want to see anybody right now. 

Clarke took the rest of the week off work, spending most of her time wearing Bellamy’s old denim jacket and sketching. 

Admittedly, it was pretty depressing. 

But she couldn’t bring herself to do much more than that. 

Getting back into art was freeing, where writing had felt like an emotional effort—this felt like a release, it felt more like her. 

She sketched anything that came to mind, self-portraits, flowers, teapots, and a few glimpses of Bellamy. Never his entire form, but rather pieces of him, his hands, his smile, his profile. 

On the fourth day, she did a series of three panels, green fields and bright blue skies with a honeycomb taking over the corner. Bees floated through each of the panes, grouped together and far apart, hundreds of little bees. 

It would be perfect for a nursery, the nursery she’d been waiting to set up until Bellamy came home. 

She still didn’t want to start anything, always had hope that he would come home to them, that they could still do some of this together. 

Clarke was finishing up the clouds on the final panel when the door clicked. Octavia appeared in the entryway, holding up the emergency key. 

Her eyes were dry, and she was holding a coffee the size of her head, which was at least slightly comforting considering the circumstances. 

Wordlessly, Octavia held out an envelope, raising an eyebrow and waiting until Clarke grudgingly put down her brush and took it. 

“What is this?” Clarke asked wearily, easing herself up off the ground. 

Octavia chewed on her straw for a beat, like she was trying to gather her words before she took a step forward. 

“The army sent me a ticket to Germany, to go be with Bellamy. But I don’t think I’m the one who should go anymore,” she said carefully, tapping the envelope with her finger. “I already called them and explained everything. They said it was fine as long as—“ 

But before she could finish, Clarke wrapped Octavia in a tight hug. 

This was a huge deal. 

For Octavia to offer this, to give up seeing her brother so that Clarke could go instead, so she could tell him in person, let him feel the baby kick. 

It was a big sacrifice and a huge symbol of trust. 

“But you better tell him how you feel,” Octavia said, giving Clarke one last squeeze. “I’m not about to listen to any more of this, just friends crap. You’re pregnant. He almost died. At this point, it’s just stupid.” 

She’d long stopped wondering how everyone already seemed to know that she was in love with Bellamy. Apparently, it was more obvious than she thought. 

“Why do you always have to ruin sweet moments?” Clarke sighed, shoving her friend gently. 

But there was something between them bigger than friendship now. They were joined by this baby. They were family. 

And this was the kind of thing that family did for each other. 

“It’s how I show affection,” Octavia shrugged, trying to keep her giant coffee from spilling on the rug. 

***

  
Bellamy tried and failed to sit up on his own. His abdominal muscles burned, his leg throbbed, his ribs ached, but he was determined to at least try. 

“Stop doing that,” the nurse scolded, setting the little white cup of pills on the bedside table before reaching to lift his bed with a soft whirr. 

Once Bellamy was upright, she handed him the cup and a box of apple juice, tapping her foot until he downed both. 

In more than one way, this nurse reminded him of his sister. 

He’d only woken up this morning, and the entire world was still things with a light haze. 

Miller lay in a bed across the room, leg propped up in a matching sling and a harsh burn marring the right side of his face. His fiancé was by his side, curled over the side of the bed with his head pillowed on Miller’s undamaged thigh. 

According to the doctor, they were lucky to have made it out alive—some of their friends had been decidedly less so. 

But seeing Miller like this, feeling the ache in his own body, knowing that not everyone made it out alive, didn’t make Bellamy feel lucky at all. 

“How are you feeling?” The nurse asked, tapping on the keyboard. 

“I’ve been better, and I’ve been worse” He sighed, trying once again to lift his arm. 

It moved more this time, but left a searing pain running down his side. 

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm. Your ribs are in a cast,” she explained, not looking up from the computer. “It’s normal to feel a little off-balance. You’ve been out for almost 5 days.” 

Five days. 

Completely missing from his memory, a span of time that completely passed him by. 

He strained, trying to remember the moments leading up to the explosion, but the last thing he remembered was going to bed. 

The sonogram he’d been holding to his chest was long gone, along with the unopened gender reveal envelope and all the letters he’d saved from Clarke. 

She’d been the first person he’d asked for, but for security purposes, they weren’t letting him make direct phone calls. 

The space between them had never felt more significant, and his heart broke that he was trapped in this hospital bed and she was at home, wondering if he’d make it back to see their baby. 

He’d missed so much, would miss, even more, memories he would never get back. 

The image of her wrapped in his jacket, barefoot on her front porch, was seared into his brain. But the memory was getting fuzzy around the edges. 

Six months was a long time. 

They told him they’d sent a ticket for his family, that his sister was coming to be with him. 

A piece of home after such a long time away. 

He was looking forward to it, even if he would’ve rather been sent back to Arkadia. 

Maybe he would be able to FaceTime, but it wouldn’t be the same. 

“I hear you’re getting a visitor today,” the nurse smiled warmly, taking the now empty vitamin cup, almost like she could read his mind. “I’ll send someone to help you clean up a little. Wouldn’t want to make her worry over a little dirt.” 

Bellamy nodded, leaning back against his pillows. He hadn’t been near a mirror yet—but it probably wasn’t a pretty sight. 

The room itself was bare and boring. Military regulations didn’t allow for flowers, so all they had were plastic cactuses and a grainy tv. 

He stared at a rerun of an old soccer game, trying not to eavesdrop as Miller’s fiancé whispered to him. Eventually, a different nurse came in, tried to comb his hair, used a handful of wipes to clean up his face. 

It probably didn’t do much good, based on the way her brow furrowed as she swiped over his cheek for the fifth time. 

But Octavia wouldn’t really care, would probably bring her own pack of wipes to scrub incessantly at his cheeks. 

He was so excited to see a familiar face that the small talk felt like it went on for hours. 

“I’ll go see if she’s here,” the nurse smiled, leaving an extra box of juice on the table when she finally finished. 

From across the room, Miller smiled at him. 

“You’re not going to win any modeling contests, but all things considered, you don’t look too bad,” he assured, smirking in a way that felt familiar and comforting. 

At least some things hadn’t changed. 

Bellamy rolled his eyes, chatting with Miller and Jackson while he waited for the nurse to return. 

They talked about the soccer game playing on the TV when Miller stopped talking mid-sentence, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. 

His cheek turned up in a soft smile as the nurse knocked gently on the doorframe. 

“Surprise,” she said cheerily, stepping to the side. 

It took a beat for Bellamy to process that the woman standing behind her wasn’t Octavia. 

It was Clarke. 

***

  
Suddenly shy, Clarke pulled her jacket closer to her body. 

Bellamy looked understandably shocked when she finally revealed herself, scrubbing a hand over his face over and over, like he did trust his own vision. 

His cheeks were bruised up, covered in cuts and thin strips of bandage. 

But seeing him felt like a huge relief, like her heart might burst from the sight of him alone. 

She wanted to run to him, but she knew she’d caught him off guard, that he was a bit unsteady. 

So carefully, Clarke walked toward the edge of the bed until she was close enough to take his hand. 

“You’re here,” Bellamy said softly, looking up at her, first at her face, taking the time to study her before his eyes traveled down. 

With a deep breath, she let her coat fall open, guiding their joint hands to rest on top of her belly. 

Bellamy’s eyes filled with tears, face crumbling as he took her in. 

It was too much to bear, the weight of so many unsaid things between them, the relief that he was really in front of her. 

As her own tears escaped from the corner of her eyes, Clarke gently took Bellamy into her arms, pulling him in close while he held her belly in his hands. 

“I thought I lost you,” she let herself admit, running a hand through his tangled curls. 

“I’m here, I’m okay,” he whispered, lips brushing her temple. “Are you okay?” 

At this, Clarke pulled back just enough, covering one of Bellamy’s hands with her own. 

“We’re both okay,” she assured, rubbing her thumb against his skin. 

They sat in silence, holding each other, looking at each other, both taking in the moment they’d waited months for. 

Words didn’t feel sufficient for what she was feeling, for the kind of love pulsing through her veins. 

For the first time since Clarke found out she was pregnant, she felt like she was at peace. 

Sure, Bellamy was beaten up and bruised, and there was a chance their kid would be born on a military base in a foreign country—but they were together again. 

All three of them. 

“Hi, little bee,” Bellamy whispered, stroking Clarke’s shirt with his index finger. 

Clarke shifted Bellamy’s hand so he could feel a little flutter kick. 

As his eyes lit up, still a little glassy, she realized he was feeling it for the first time. 

***

Bellamy insisted Clarke spend the night, even if it was kind of uncomfortable with his broken ribs. 

Holding her against his chest, being able to feel her pulse jump under his palm, it was more than he could’ve ever asked for. 

He let his hand wander down her stomach, rubbing soft circles where the hem of her shirt had exposed a thin strip of skin. 

The even rise and fall of Clarke’s chest told him that she was asleep. So in the dark, not quite able to bend all the way down, Bellamy talked to his baby. 

“Hi, little bee,” he said, voice sounding awkward and weird even to his own ears. “I know you don’t know my voice yet, but uh—I’m your daddy.” 

Saying the words out loud felt strange, like it didn’t quite fit right in his mouth, but he couldn’t deny that it made his heart feel warm. 

“We’ve missed a lot of time together, but I’m going to spend a long time making it up to you,” he continued, edging down the bed so he could be a bit closer. “You’re going to be so spoiled.” 

As he talked, there was a little flutter under his palm, like the baby could hear him and was trying to talk back. 

“You know, I was supposed to find out whether you’re a boy or a girl,” he chuckled, leaning his temple on Clarke’s ribs. “But uhh—things kind of got in the way.” 

It felt like the understatement of the year, but explaining an explosion to an unborn baby was a level of ridiculous even Bellamy didn’t want to approach. 

So he just laid in the dark, waiting for another nudge against his hand. 

“It doesn’t really matter what the gender is. We can just wait,” Clarke said, voice raspy with sleep as she ran her fingers through the ends of Bellamy’s hair. “Considering that Clarke is definitely a boy name and a Bellamy is definitely a girl name, all bets are off already.” 

Bellamy chuckled, pulling Clarke’s shirt back down as he edged back up the bed. 

God, he’d missed her. 

Having her back felt better than he could’ve ever imagined. Being able to finally feel their baby under his hand was a miracle. 

If there was one thing that almost dying taught him, life is short, and nothing is guaranteed. 

“You still awake?” He asked, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s temple, appreciating for the first time how easily they’d fallen back into a rhythm. 

If it weren’t for the pieces of metal in his chest and the cast around his leg, he could almost pretend that no time had passed at all. 

“Yeah,” she replied, turning just enough to smile at him in the dark. 

This was his chance. 

Part of Bellamy didn’t want to do it like this, to tell her how he felt when they were lying in a hospital bed with his face covered in bruises. 

But nothing would ever feel like the right time, and the longer he waited, the more time he would waste. The idea that another day could go by where Clarke didn’t know that he loved her—that she’d spent all this time not knowing…

“I love you, I think you know that, and I think you’ve always known. Because I’ve always loved you. Before the baby, or anything else, I loved you, and I didn’t think it was possible, but I love you even more now. And if you’ll have me, I want to love you for the rest of my life,” he said into the dark, loosening his grip on her just enough, that if he freaked her out, she could just walk away. He knew it was a lot, that he probably should’ve eased into it, but once he started, there was no way to stop it. 

Bellamy wanted to say it over and over, to scream it from the rooftops and tell it to anyone who would listen. 

He loved Clarke Griffin. 

“If you’re asking me to marry you, which I think you are. Then I would love nothing more than to love you and be loved by you and love our baby for the rest of my life,” Clarke finally said, gently turning to face him. Even in the dark, Bellamy could see she was crying. 

And well, he hadn’t exactly been implying a marriage proposal. He’d figured she’d want something more special than this. But it was more than he could ever have asked for. 

She loved him back, and she wanted to marry him too. 

Even in his current state, Bellamy knew without a doubt that he was the luckiest man alive. 

It wasn’t until much later, once they were both done crying and talking and kissing and laughing, that he realized they’d gotten engaged before they’d even had their first kiss. 

Fitting, considering that they’d never learned how to do anything in the correct order. 

***

  
Three months later, two weeks before she was supposed to arrive in the world—Beatrice Natasha Griffin-Blake was born on the eve of her parent’s wedding. 

Timing wasn’t her strong suit either. 

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing too crazy, but I had a lot of fun writing this!! I hope you all liked it as well, please let me know if you did! I love hearing from you and getting to know you, your feedback means a lot. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves, I hope you all are well and happy and healthy! If nobody has told you today, you are incredibly special and loved! 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr if you want to be friends @Nakey-cats-take-bathsss <3
> 
> Love you all so much! :)


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